


Descent into Brooklyn

by monrat



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, One of My Favorites, Rewrite, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018) Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:40:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26405887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monrat/pseuds/monrat
Summary: Basically, that one movie scene™ from the movie that we all know we love.
Relationships: None
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Descent into Brooklyn

**Author's Note:**

> Basically me doing an exercise, is rewriting a movie scene in my style. And honestly I had to do this one bc I love it sm. I cannot stress how brilliant this movie is. Anyway, enjoy!

Lightning strikes over Brooklyn, yet there was no rain for hours to come. Streaks of ultraviolet mirroring off each other against skyscrapers. A blue and neon gradient radiating off the bustling streets in the awake city.

The clouds are gathering right above Brooklyn, a gnarly gargoyle sitting atop of everything else. Against midnight windows, Miles is camouflaged in it. The lights grazing off his head and the panes.

Miles felt the chilly breeze furrowing through the edges of the hood casted over his face. There's both the cowardly fear and adrenaline rush sprinting laps in his mind, as he pushes the rusty doors to the rooftop open.

He's planted on the edge, hands gripping onto the cement and figure hunched. He looks down, heartbeat racing but barely a smile planted on the corners of his lips. The city stretches way beneath his feet, a spiral with only one way; down.

Miles huffs, his nose picking up the trace of the dried black spray paint against the suit. The fabric is glossed over, red intricate lines flowing like blood work. It's fresh, like the memory of him stepping into the spidey lair shed with nobody else beside him. Aunt May had waited for Miles, a teacup tucked between her fingers.

He remembers, the overused and unmistakingly Spiderman suit, a bright red and blue color pattern. It was displayed pristine and bold inside the transparent box. Gazing upon the teenage boy, his face reflecting onto the mask. Who was looking back?

Was it spiderman, or Miles himself?

"You're the best of all of us, Miles." 

His uncle's words echo in his thoughts, eerily similar to the songs that blasted through Uncle Aaron's boombox. Like a broken record, it's replaying in his mind over and over. 

It's funny, he thinks with a million doubts racing through his veins. That question he always asked ever since from day one. Since the pages of the comic book stuck onto his fingers, ripping them. Was he ever ready to become Spiderman? Heck… if not now, when?

Miles pulls down the mask over his face. The red outlined on white, fitting in the black fabric. His arms weary, the sound of the spray paint still ringing in his ears. It was made for him, for he made the suit.

The sneakers squeak against tempered glass, hands sticking onto them as his heartbeat escalates. Another shaky sigh escapes Mile's lips, his tailbone sitting against the surface of the windows. He's on the edge.

He's not ready. Miles knew that, leaning as the wind buffeted. He swears to god that he hopes the web shooters wouldn't fail on him right now. At this point, it was a do or die.

"you won't… that's all it is, Miles."

Miles swears it one of the busiest nights in Brooklyn, but he can't hear anything over the beating sensation wildly pressed against his chest. He can't swing. Not with his fingers feeling numb and cold, unable to even move a muscle.

God, he hated this. He really did. Miles never wanted to become Spiderman. He didn't know this was really… real. He was a teenager placed in someone's path. He wasn't so sure of himself, if he was following by mistake… or was it written for him in the first place.

Was he Spiderman at all?

Was he ready for all the responsibility of being Brooklyn's hero? 

"A leap of faith."

Miles doesn't care. But he knows for sure that the thumping sound against his ear drum stops the moment he pushes himself off the glass.

Miles wanted to shut his eyes, he can't hear anything. There is nothing but his own fear. His fingertips recognized that feeling too, shattering the windows from the force. He can't control anything, but he's here, falling to his death.

Miles deeply takes a breath, his gaze falling onto the looming city. It's dark, and it's cold. They stretch out long, towering over him. It reminded Miles of his fears, the wind violently slapping against his jacket.

He spins out of control, like a baby bird leaving its nest for the first time. Miles is torn between his decisions, he can't move. It's the vibrations trembling his body, vision spiralling to the blinding billboards and a war with his emotions.

But Miles wasn't falling.

Thunder strikes, Miles isn't fluttering around, his arms no longer flailing like they did in the first place. He was here, he's really going straight ahead, diving into Brooklyn. 

The people underneath stop in their tracks, traffic halting and all their eyes on the figure slowly falling down from above. Thoughts of a tragedy; a death that sent panic rushing through their minds but frozen to move. Times of mourning coming back to witness a death right in front of them.

Miles hurriedly holds onto his wrists with all the force he could muster, long and white strings leaping out far over, his only hope being to be able to hold onto something before he hits the ground. His arms are between his legs, head faced behind the failure. He feels it, the concrete beneath him nearing, the web going off to god knows where over that building. His eyebrows furrowed.

Miles wasn't falling; he was rising.

The webhand coming into the crowd's sight, a wave of emotions washing over them. It's that familiar suit, that symbol. The unforgettable string of fate coming from the figure. One that connected all of their hopes, fire reigniting. It's a leap of faith.

And for once again, the guardian of New York City was back. The once impossible was now possible, Spiderman.

He feels the web clutching onto something, and with all his force he swings himself over a few meters off the ground. He's alive for sure. Miles almost laughs at himself, a scream wanting to escape his throat. Feet in the air, Miles was floating like a butterfly newly out of his cocoon.

There's a feeling of sweet triumph and ecstasy coursing through his blood, he's racing with the cars on the highways like a beast. Feet taking him off like wings, Miles takes another swing at it again. It's like amateur clockwork, he's not used to it but it felt right enough. 

One step in front of another at full pace, Miles gripped onto the web as he sprinted across the orange roads like there was no tomorrow. What was once a flickering light bursts into flames,The spark in him raging brighter than before. 

The Trust Us building sign illuminating by, memories of his first awkward and painful jump running alongside him. He leaps over it, a smile riding his face, both his body and mind propelling high in the air.

Maybe for once, he could do something right. In all of Mile's never ending doubts of life before the suit, he knew the answer to this one. Fisk tower comes into view.

The torch has been passed. He was back. Spiderman was back.


End file.
